pity this busy monster
pity this busy monster, manunkind,
not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)
plays with the bigness of his littleness
— electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange; lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born — pity poor flesh
and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical
ultraomnipotence. We doctors know
a hopeless case if — listen: there’s a hell
of a good universe next door; let’s go
I think I grow tensions
in a wood where
Each wound is perfect,
encloses itself in a tiny
Pain is a flower like that one,
like this one,
like that one,
like this one.
a bunch of random pix from the interwebs
hey guess what? i changed the theme.
kill me now or in
sixty years it won’t matter
’cause i’m not alive
i know, i’m a horrible person for leaving you guys alone for so long. sorry. anyways, i wrote a poem, but it needs revision and a title, so feedback would be greatly appreciated.
untitled (for now)
an original from girlsnakey
i am a spare piece
that extra part you place in a box
(“just in case,” you think)
and inevitably forget about
so there i stay
from my box i see the others
the ones with a place-
they are not alone
they are connected
gears in the human machine
and sometimes i wonder
are there more like me?
do they sit in their boxes
tired and dusty
“a wind has blown the rain away and blown
the sky away and all the leaves away,
and the trees stand. I think i too have known
autumn too long”
– e.e. cummings (from a wind has blown the rain away)
“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back.”
by PETE on hellopoetry.com
I like to think that I am
some kind of artist.
A fucking poet.
But really, I am
A goddamn cynic.
I havent written a poem in
over two months
and there is no way in hell
that I am going to start now.
Just an un-poem I found
I don’t know where you’re going
But do you got room for one more troubled soul?
I don’t know where I’m going
But I don’t think I’m coming home and I said
I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead
This is the road to ruin
And we’re starting at the end
–from Alone Together by Fall Out Boy